


Either the End (Or Maybe It's Sanctuary)

by 60r3d0m



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, First Kiss, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex, Wing Kink, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 10:24:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/60r3d0m/pseuds/60r3d0m
Summary: It takes Castiel three months to find him. Three months of desperation and losing his mind with worry, and then it is Dean's longing that leads him to a run-down shed in the middle of the woods, where he finds Dean imprisoned, shivering and afraid.And Castiel thinks it will be okay after that, except Dean looks at him as if he's seeing a stranger. Except that Dean cowers from Castiel's touch as if he thinks that Castiel will hurt him.It's the least of their problems.Especially when they find themselves in a world where they are the last people left on Earth.





	Either the End (Or Maybe It's Sanctuary)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic. was written for the Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2018 challenge. A big thank-you to the mods for all of their hard work and a big heartfelt thank-you to all of my fellow participants <3
> 
> The story was inspired by this lovely [piece](https://deancebra-art.tumblr.com/post/175378249028/this-is-the-second-piece-of-art-i-made-for-the) (NSFW) by artist [Deancebra](https://deancebra-art.tumblr.com). Please send her all the love! Her visual with its dark moon-lit atmosphere was an amazing setting to work with. She requested a recovery fic. with tons of angst. This is that fic., and if you've read it, it is somewhat similar to my other fic. _Dislocation_.
> 
> **warnings: implied violence** (while present throughout the story, it is very below-the-surface/does not get any explicit mentions)

Castiel finds him in a shed in the middle of the woods. It’s not much of a prison. It’s not more than a few wooden slates nailed hastily together, but the sigils are what have kept Dean in, and Castiel’s fingers bleed and ache as he pries the boards apart.

The people who did this, they must’ve known that Castiel would come for him.

With every touch to the wood, Castiel feels the angel warding sap away his strength.

 

 

 

 

Dean looks at him as if he is a stranger. He doesn’t move when Castiel opens the door, but a whimper escapes his lips and he tenses as if waiting for an assault. When Castiel steps inside, he drops to his knees, part relief because he’s found him at last, part ache because the longing that Dean feels for him—the longing that drew Castiel into the depths of the wilderness—is still alive.

When Castiel presses his hand to Dean’s jaw, Dean shivers violently and recoils.

There's a sinking feeling in Castiel's gut.

 

 

 

 

"Are you alright?" Castiel asks. They're the first words out of his mouth after _Dean_. But Dean doesn't meet his eyes. Dean's eyes flit to and fro, as if searching for an exit, even now when he's free.

"Dean," Castiel says, again, and this time, maybe he's pleading. "Dean. Dean, look at me. Don't hide."

Dean shuts his eyes.

Dean shivers and wraps his arms around himself as if he can shut the world out like that.

Castiel's heart twinges in his chest.

 

 

 

 

By the time that they stumble out of the shed, Castiel is gasping for breath, his grace dripping and leaking from the ether like melting ice. But still, he uses all of his strength to cradle Dean in his arms. He pulls him into his lap and Dean is quiet this time, stiff and not daring to move as if Castiel’s gentle hands could turn wicked at a moment’s notice.   

Above them, the moonlight filters in through the canopy of trees, making every wound on Dean’s naked body glow white as if healed by grace.

That’s when Castiel realizes that he can’t help him.

 

 

 

 

Castiel pulls his coat off and starts to unbutton his shirt.

Dean starts shaking.

Dean’s eyes look distant and terrified as if he’s seeing something else, as if he’s in another place, and Castiel pauses and presses a hand to his jaw again.

“I only want to cover you,” Castiel says and his voice comes out strangled and desperate. “Dean, I’m—”

Castiel stops.

Swallows painfully when he understands what the truth of the matter is.

Dean does not fear what Castiel thinks (which would maybe be relieving). It's not because he's removing his coat and shirt that Dean looks as if he wants to run. Instead, Dean's eyes are glued to the angel blade that's glinting inside his coat pocket. The cuts on Dean's body flash through Castiel's mind just as his stomach lurches with his realization.

So, “Here,” he says and he takes the blade that Dean's afraid of and lets it roll away in the dirt, far away from them. When he moves to Dean, he doesn’t think that he’s ever touched a creature with such a gentle hand before. He runs his fingers through Dean’s hair and soothes it back. It’s dirty and tangled and knotted and longer than he remembers. When he wraps Dean’s naked body with his coat, Dean looks at him with distrust in his eyes as if he doesn’t believe what Castiel tells him. “I’m just going to hold you. I won’t hurt you.”

"But," Dean whispers, “that’s what you always say.”

 

 

 

 

Castiel tries to help him. He draws grace from every distant corner of his being, lets his wings fall into the earthly plane because he leaves no stone unturned in his quest to retrieve every smidgeon of power that could relieve Dean’s pain. But the evidence of harm does not fade. Throughout it all, Dean squeezes his eyes shut as if he can escape that way.

But then, when he opens his eyes and sees Castiel’s wings, a spark of recognition gleams within them.

“You,” he croaks and he presses a shaky hand to the side of Castiel’s face before it falls weakly away.

 

 

 

Castiel doesn't know what to do.

Castiel feels sick and tired and sad. Castiel feels pangs of pain when Dean presses into him. When Dean buries his nose into the crook of Castiel’s neck and wraps his arms around him with fingers digging into Castiel’s skin, as if he’s afraid that Castiel will just abandon him.

“I’m here, Dean,” Castiel reminds him softly. “I will never leave you.”

Dean takes a ragged breath and breathes harshly against his neck.

He says, “Don’t say that.”

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t want to keep Dean here when his place of torment is within view.

So softly, “Come with me,” Castiel says.

Dean’s legs shake so much that he can’t support himself.

 

 

 

 

He carries him.

It's the only solution.

He hoists Dean into his arms like a bride and starts to walk through the forest, no destination in sight, only within his mind.

Dean's quiet the whole way. Dean shivers the whole way.

Castiel has never felt so lost before.

 

 

 

 

He cannot see it, but Castiel knows that there is a barn a mile away.

Sam and he had seen it on the map when they had planned Dean’s rescue. They hadn’t been sure if the sensation that Castiel had kept feeling was Dean’s longing. Obscured by the sigils on the shed, all Castiel had heard of Dean’s prayers had been a demonic voice in his ears, and using a spell to summon Castiel to that place of darkness had been a move that Sam had tried to talk him out of.

"Dean's not a demon, Cas." Sam had forced the words out of his mouth. Maybe because he hadn't believed them. Or maybe because he hadn't wanted to because they'd been down that road before. "Dean's not dead. He'd have to be dead to be a—"

It's. Not. Him.

_It's not him, Cas!_  

But despite Sam's conviction, Castiel had resisted. Somehow, it was as if he had _known_.

Now, Castiel knows that Sam's right. Dean isn't a demon. 

Dean's just broken.

 

 

 

 

They don’t even make it halfway to the barn.

Castiel tires long before then, his grace refusing to regenerate. He collapses leaning against a tree, and Dean falls with him, curls up and sits in the space between Castiel's legs with his back pressed to Castiel's chest.

Dean shivers against him, like he's done this whole time.

Castiel takes his hand and closes his eyes.

_Sleep_.

For the first time, he needs it.

 

 

 

 

When he comes to, Dean is so quiet that Castiel becomes afraid. He grips Dean's hand a little tighter, squeezes it until Dean's fingers twitch in response, and then Castiel lets out a breath that he feels that he's been holding in forever.

Keeping Dean safe all of these years hasn't been easy. Not when Dean has the tendency to stick his nose and feet and arms into whatever apocalyptic situation arises out of the blue. 

Now Dean's silence reminds him of the many times that he's failed.

But this time failure's so complete that Castiel can barely suck another breath into his lungs.

 

 

 

 

They make it to the barn by morning.

Or what should be morning.

But all Castiel can see is the night sky and the full moon that never changes position.

When Castiel’s grace fails to replenish, he knows then that something is very wrong.

(This universe is not theirs).

 

 

 

 

“Are you in pain?”

Castiel’s voice wavers when he asks the question. He takes Dean's wrist in his hand and rubs his thumb over the blue veins that lie beneath Dean's pale skin.

It’s much too early. But being helpless has him craving some reassurance.

It doesn't matter.

Dean is lying sprawled on the barn floor with his head in Castiel’s lap.

Dean doesn’t answer.

 

 

 

 

Castiel starts to speak of other things. He talks about what Sam and he did while Dean was gone. He tells him that they didn’t stop their search, no matter how many days passed, and Dean listens to all of it wordlessly.

“It was three months, Dean,” Castiel says and he presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “That was how long you were gone.”

 

 

 

 

The cell phone that Sam gave him doesn’t work.

The signal is strong.

But no matter how many times Castiel calls, the line is dead.

Outside, the never-setting moon mocks them.

 

 

 

 

The next time Castiel wakes up, it’s not of his own volition. Instead, it’s Dean who has his eyes fluttering open, because Dean’s awake and he’s running his fingers absentmindedly through Castiel’s feathers.

Castiel shudders and tries not to let it get to him.

But Dean’s fingers are experimental and insistent and Castiel throws back his head and lets the softest sound escape his lips.

At the pleasure that eclipses Castiel’s face, Dean pulls his hands away and stops touching him.

He looks at Castiel wide-eyed.

Castiel doesn’t know what to do.

 

 

 

 

Dean kisses him.

 

 

 

 

Castiel knows that it’s a mistake.

 

 

 

 

It confuses him.

That Dean becomes more insistent when all Castiel had seen in his eyes had been fear before.

But Dean starts touching him as if he _needs_ Castiel. Dean runs his fingers through Castiel's wings with newfound purpose and Castiel doesn't know whether Dean's touches are cruel or just—he wants them all the same.

They share another kiss late in the night. A flurry of kisses soon after that. And Dean doesn’t talk that whole time. Just curls up against him. Just wants to be held afterwards and looks at him with love in his eyes when Castiel abides by his wishes.

Dean kisses him as if he is testing the waters.

As if to see if Castiel will hurt him.

 

 

 

 

"It's really you," Dean says.

 

 

 

 

At some point, Castiel loses track of the days.

The barn becomes one endless night, one devoid of hunger or thirst—only sleep is a reprieve.

Castiel tries to go elsewhere. He leads Dean by the hand down the road, knocks on the other farmhouse doors and tries to find someone to help them.

But there isn’t a single soul here.

For all he knows, this place is not real.

 

 

 

 

"Where are all the people? Where's Sam?"

 

 

 

 

They wander house to house in the deserted town. It's odd. There are belongings scattered everywhere, reminders of what had once been. It is here that Castiel rummages in some previous occupant's closet and finds clothes that fit Dean. 

"They're not plaid," Castiel says, furrowing his brows. He wrings and unwrings his hands. 

But he hopes that they will do.

In the end, it doesn't matter. It is Castiel who ends up wearing the stranger's clothing because Dean only feels comfortable in the clothes that Castiel loans him.

(It won't be just one time—this world will be theirs for a long time to come).

 

 

 

“What happened to you?” Castiel asks, when he thinks that enough time has passed since they came here.

They don’t live in the barn anymore. It had been pointless. Now they occupy a house, neither too big nor small (chosen by Dean), and together, they lie in bed and wait for either the end (or maybe it's sanctuary).

Dean opens his mouth. But whatever he wants to say, he can’t. Castiel rubs his arm, feels the soft fabric of the blue shirt that Dean’s wearing (to whom had it once belonged?), encloses him in his arms and says, “That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

So Dean is quiet.

But he kisses Castiel’s neck in gratitude.

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, it’s almost like a good dream.

They have a house. They share a bed and a life and it is unlike anything that Castiel could have dreamt into reality.

But this is their life now.

And he gets to share it with Dean.

 

 

 

 

Castiel thinks that it’s years later before they finally become intimate.

He’s not expecting it. He’s used to soft kisses and lingering touches. He’s used to holding Dean in his arms, enclosing him in his wings, but this is something new.

It happens during a shower. They’re used to those, used to taking them together. When they had first moved into this home, Castiel had spent hours gently cleaning all of Dean’s wounds, and maybe that had been one of the laws of this world, because without the aid of supernatural grace, Dean had healed.

Or maybe because Castiel is so very near-human now, Dean trusts him.

In the shower, Dean touches himself for the first time in a long time and pants Castiel’s name as he strokes himself.

Castiel shouldn’t watch.

But he does.

And for the first time, he crowds Dean up against the tiles and kisses him without permission.

 

 

 

 

Dean's gorgeous like this.

He writhes and whimpers so beautifully while Castiel slides into him and thrusts.

Dean tells him to slow and wraps his arms around Castiel, digs his nails in and they pause, take a moment to hold each other before Castiel moves again.

Dean shudders and shudders, sometimes seems lost in bad memories but begs him to keep going when Castiel wants to pull away.

“Kiss me, Cas,” he says.

_Kiss my neck, kiss my chest, kiss me everywhere_.

Castiel presses his lips to every scar and together, they make new memories.  

 

 

 

 

 

  

Maybe it's what pushes everything over the ledge because, “I saw you,” Dean says not long after that, and then every secret from those three months where Dean had been gone comes spilling out of his mouth. “It was you there. And you—”

_You hurt me_.

“I knew it wasn’t you. But they—they looked like you—he—they abducted me wearing your face.”

Castiel’s wings quiver.

 

 

 

 

Perhaps Castiel should have been wiser.

Falling for a man when all of heaven would not forgive him.

They always said that there was something wrong with Castiel’s wiring.

But not Dean.

Dean could be broken.

Dean could learn to hurt and cower from Castiel’s presence in the blink of an eye compared to what it would take to recondition Castiel.

What happened to Dean—what Heaven did—this is Castiel’s fault.

 

 

 

 

The distance comes naturally.

It creeps in with the pain and the guilt and the anger.

He can’t touch Dean anymore.

He can’t sleep in the same bed with him and pretend that it’s okay, because it won’t be. Castiel doesn’t want Dean to see him. Castiel doesn’t want Dean to love him despite it all. Because the face that Dean had seen had been Castiel’s. And Castiel cannot bear the thought of Dean loving a monster.

 

 

 

 

The road is lonely.

For Castiel, it has always been.

 

 

 

 

It is irony that Castiel leaves Dean when he had come to find him.

His wings are too broken to ever fly again, even if time here has had new feathers sprouting in places where there had once been none.

But Castiel slips away in the night, locks all of the doors behind him so that Dean is safe (if anything is out there, even though years have told him that the wind does not even dare whisper). After that, he takes a car and starts his journey down the empty road.

No matter how far he goes, there are no signs of life, save for his own beating heart.

 

 

 

 

"You're a goddamn asshole, Cas."

 

 

 

 

Dean finds him not even a week later.

Castiel knows that it has been a week because he started counting time as soon as he left Dean.

Dean’s bottom lip wobbles when he finds him and his voice cracks and cracks and cracks as he tries to get his words out.

You said you wouldn’t leave me.

"You—you're an asshole."

Castiel bites his tongue and takes it. He doesn’t know what to say.

But maybe Dean doesn't know either because he stands there trembling until he finally rushes and pulls Castiel into his arms.

Castiel feels a strange sensation in his chest, tight and confining, that only eases when he weeps.

 

 

 

 

It's just good timing when it happens because life after that becomes bitter and difficult. One moment, they’re standing in the kitchen of a new house with a new bed, and in the next moment, they find themselves in the bunker.

Sam leaps towards them in a blur, doesn’t look an hour older than when Castiel had left him, even though Dean’s hair is creeping with grey.

It’s been six days, Sam tells them, and Castiel could have sworn it had been six years.

When he looks to Dean, Dean’s hair and face is younger, and he's wearing the same clothes that he'd had when he’d disappeared during their hunt.

 

 

 

 

Dinner is strange.

Sam's company is strange.

Going outside is even stranger.

There’s life out there.

 

 

 

 

Healing isn’t easy. They don’t go out again for months. It’s too noisy out there. Too many sounds and minds buzzing together, and even Sam becomes unbearable.

(He wants to know what happened.

They don’t know how to tell him).

But when they say it’s been years, Sam seems to understand that some things will never be the same.

 

 

 

 

Castiel lets Dean touch him again, maybe one hundred weeks later (but the truth is, he's lost count).

He closes his eyes as if maybe that can hide his monstrous face, a face stolen from him to _hurt_ Dean, but Dean kisses up his neck and whispers _It’s okay_ against his ear.

He tells Castiel that it doesn’t matter that their visages looked the same.

It’s what’s in the mind that matters.

 

 

 

 

Today, Castiel wakes with Dean at his side, like he has for a long time now. Dean is nestled against his chest, one arm tightly wound around his waist as if he’s still afraid that Castiel will run away, even though they’ve been over that. Even though it will never happen.

6:54 a.m.

That’s what the alarm clock reads. It’s too early to get up.

 

 

 

 

Dean is forty-five years old today.

Castiel bakes him a cake to the best of his ability and then prods Sam to go to the supermarket to pick up a proper substitute that can make up for the disaster in the kitchen.

Dean smiles and only eats Castiel’s, though.

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, there are nightmares.

Castiel doesn’t know if they are of that place. Castiel doesn’t know what haunts Dean when he closes his eyes and goes to sleep at night. If it's _Castiel's_ face. If it's something else. But sometimes Dean wakes up sweating and panicked, grabs at Castiel and finds that familiar spot against Castiel’s chest to lean his head against.

Castiel sighs and holds him.

Castiel brushes back his hair and tells him that it will all be okay.

 

 

 

 

Dean believes him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and viewing our story/art :D Comments and feedback are always appreciated if you've got the time, and if you'd like, you can visit me on Tumblr [here](http://60r3d0m.tumblr.com) or Deancebra [here](https://deancebra-art.tumblr.com).


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